


Things to be Thankful For

by MistyBeethoven



Series: "Yes, I Really Am This Pathetic!" or "How to Say I Love You With a Story" [72]
Category: Youngblood (1986)
Genre: BBW, Bad Cooking, Canadian Thanksgiving, Comedy, Cooking, Dinner, Dinner guests, Erections, F/M, Fights, Goalies, Grocery Shopping, Hockey, Ice, Ice Skating, Inappropriate Erections, Insecurity, Inspired by The Blue Carbuncle, Kissing, Love, Love Stories, Overweight, Rings, Rinks, Romantic Comedy, Shyness, Suds Fight, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Turkey - Freeform, Washing Dishes, Weight Issues, guests - Freeform, pucks, squashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyBeethoven/pseuds/MistyBeethoven
Summary: The Friday before Canadian Thanksgiving in the Ontario town where I live, I innocently visit my Independent Grocers to find myself arguing with a handsome stranger over the last turkey. Inviting the goalie, who turns out to be nicknamed Heaver, over to my house for Thanksgiving, I discover the secret behind the bird, the man's peculiar fetish and his real name. All proving to one shy, overweight and insecure girl that there are many things to be thankful for!
Relationships: Heaver (Youngblood)/Me, Murray Chadwick & Me
Series: "Yes, I Really Am This Pathetic!" or "How to Say I Love You With a Story" [72]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589944
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	Things to be Thankful For

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Canadian Thanksgiving everyone! Here's the promised "Youngblood" Heaver entry. I warn you my French sucks. It's bad here. We're talking Miss Piggy levels. I sat through endless French lessons at school only to figure out that ananas meant pineapple. If you went to Canada and took French class you'll understand why that was all I learnt. :/
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and I'm thankful that I finished on time! :D <3

If there was one thing I was grateful for my first Thanksgiving away from home, it was the fact that I had, at least, a nice little grocers on the corner of my street to turn to in order to handle my shopping needs. Overweight and shy to the point of talking so little it had taken my grade school classmates about a year to figure out I had braces, I hated the larger grocery stores and relied on my smaller more friendlier one instead.

On the Friday before Thanksgiving, in the Ontario city where I had moved, I was quietly thanked God when I saw one turkey left in the freezer, even though, it had taken me so long to find the strength to go out and finally buy one. Then, as was usual in my life, something occurred to subtly taint my gratitude. While my hands were closing in on the bird, another pair of hands reached down too and grabbed it at the same time, stealing away my reason to be thankful.

"That's my bird, eh!" a voice said before I summoned the courage to look up to see whom had come along to spoil my gratitude.

"No, it's mine," I tried to say politely, not wanting to spend a Thanksgiving that was not only lonely but turkeyless too.

We lifted the bird in unison until it was between his fit body and my unfit one, both our hands still clutching it and reluctant to go.

"I got it first!" my foil exclaimed and I finally looked up to see that my enemy was a handsome man in a red and white jacket, around my own age of nineteen. He had dark brown, floppy hair and sweet, smallish brown eyes. Beneath them sat a pair of full lips, a pair he was using to still argue with me. "The turkey is mine! Now admit defeat and go purchase a _jambon_!"

"I don't want a jambon, I mean, ham!" I exclaimed. "That's Easter more than Thanksgiving, anyway! I want a turkey!"

"There be plenty in other stores, go get them!" he argued, tugging the bird more towards him.

"I can't!" I cried, pulling it back closer to me.

" _Pourquoi_?" he asked in curiousity, still fighting me for the coveted star of a Thanksgiving Day meal. "You've been as in the wrong there, eh?"

"No! I'm shy!"

"Tough," he snapped. "Get over it and _marchez_ vouz to the A&P!"

"This is my first Thanksgiving alone and I want a turkey, at least!" I pleaded.

"Well, I'm eating with a whole team of hockey players, _femme la grande_! The Hamilton Mustangs: winners of _le Coupe Memorial_! I am the goalie and we need a turkey!"

"Why don't you go to the stupid A&P then!" I countered, understanding french enough to know I had been insulted.

A look passed over his fine features and I had the first inklings that he wasn't giving me the full story. " _NON_!" he shouted, making an extra forceful pull on the turkey.

Too forceful.

I lost my balance.

He lost his.

Together we fell on to the Independent Grocer's floor, the turkey still gripped possessively between us and very cold. My large body fell on top of the handsome stranger's leaner one and I heard him let out a gust of breath straight into my face. I thought I must have landed on his car keys or a screwdriver he must have kept in his pocket or something because some hard item was pressing into my inner thigh. The sensation was kind of embarrassing and making me blush. The guy was looking at me oddly while my own eyes widened in humiliation. Falling on good looking men in the market with a dead bird between us, currently freezing my breasts, wasn't high on my list of things to be thankful for either.

"I'm sorry," I apologized but the man was still looking at me with this peculiar look on his face.

"Heaver," he said. " _Mon nomme c'est_ Heaver."

It was a strange name but not as strange as the look in his eyes.

"I'm Erin," I replied, still feeling uncomfortable with the large item still poking me.

"What's going on here?" Rodney Christo, a man in his early sixties and the owner of the grocery shop, demanded, rushing over to see why two customers were lying on top of each other in his family store. I absently pondered why he hadn't been as upset when Heaver and I had been fighting before I put it down to a general acceptance of violence over sex.

"We be fighting over this _oiseaux_ ," Heaver said, turning to glare at the grocer. "It be the one _dernier_."

Rodney looked at us both lying there trying to choose a winner.

"Ladies first," he announced. "Besides she came out on top," he added before walking away, leaving Heaver looking upset beneath me.

* * *

When I came out of the store, carrying the turkey, I discovered Heaver standing at the corner. His hands were in his pocket and he was looking down dejectedly at the ground, kicking some leaves on the ground by his feet and looking so defeated and forlorn I felt myself walking towards him.

"Look," I said, earning his attention. "I know it's taking you away from your team and all but would you care to come over to my apartment and eat this turkey with me on Thanksgiving? You're right; I can't eat it all by myself and I'm an okay cook."

Heaver started to smile then. My heart began to burn about as brightly as the red leaves he had been kicking. " _Oui, merci_!" he proclaimed.

"Will the other guys be too disappointed though?" I asked. "I mean, not having their turkey and all?"

"Fuck them," Heaver declared, abandoning his team spirit.

* * *

I spent most of Thanksgiving morning cooking for Heaver, my first ever houseguest whom was set to arrive at noon. Other than a call to my mom and sis first thing after waking up, I was bustling around the kitchen peeling potatoes, hastily stuffing a bird and baking biscuits. The latter of which burnt to a crisp because I had been too busy worrying about Heaver coming over and my terrible shyness to pay them the proper attention.

I'd never been great around men. I was too _aware_ of them because I was a girl and when I liked one of them I became even more shy. But Heaver was easy going enough, I kept telling myself. And we'd already gotten over the humiliation of my having landed right on top of him, reminding him further of my size. Still my heart was racing and my nerves were on edge.

 _"Please God,"_ I prayed. _"Just don't let me screw this up. It'll give me one more thing to be thankful for."_

When a knock came to the door, I rushed to it, straightening the wrinkles out of my blue sweater and black slacks. Heaver was standing there in his jacket and a colorful shirt underneath it. His blue jeans were torn and his whole look yelled casual and yet he still managed to look like he had stepped out of some fashion magazine.

" _Bonjour_ , eh?" he greeted. "Glad I got the right apartment."

"You didn't write it down?" I asked in shock.

"Non," he replied. "But my memory is pretty good."

"Even though you're a goalie and pucks keep getting hit at you?"

"Yeah, my mask works great. And, plus, I always have a costume ready for Halloween since Jason Vorehees started to wear one."

I laughed and shook my head. "Well, I'm glad you didn't bring it today. It would be hard eating with it on."

" _Certainement_ ," Heaver stated, stepping inside.

He looked my apartment over and seemed to approve. "This is nice," he commented. "Much nicer than my place. But not too sickeningly girly either."

"Thanks," I stated.

"Smells _delicieux_ ," he commented suddenly, taking in a few deep breaths.

"The table's over there," I said pointing to a small round wooden one over by a bookshelf. "If you want to wait there, I'll take your jacket and start to serve things up."

" _Fantastique_!" he exlaimed, removing his red and white jacket.

I quickly placed it on the coat rack, while he took his seat, and then rushed into the kitchen to start serving things up. I was still visible to him as he was to me, there only being a counter separating the kitchen from the living room, and us from each other, in the small apartment. I could watch him playing with the silverware I had already placed out.

"You want a Coke or a Canada Dry?" I asked.

"I want a beer," he shouted back, running the prongs of his fork along the row of books beside him.

"I don't drink," I said, stopping to gaze at him from over the counter.

He let out a gust of breath which was meant to be a laugh. "I would have been thankful if you did."

"And I'd be thankful if you didn't damage my books," I said, placing a hand on my hip.

"Looks like they be damaged enough," he said pulling one out and examining its dog eared pages, bent cover, which had fallen off once or twice already and been taped back on and its spine so bent it was in danger of breaking into several segments.

"So, I like to reread the same books," I said, heading to the table and placing a Coca Cola before each of us.

"You in the loop, _non_?" he remarked and I rolled my eyes, on my way back to the kitchen.

I returned to the table next bearing the basket of biscuits.

"Hey, these are like hockey pucks, non?" he asked, picking one up and studying it. "They are round, hard, flat and _noir_!"

"Ha ha ha," I sounded without any humor.

"I can't eat it but I'll be saving one of these for the hockey practice," Heaver informed and stuck one in his jean pocket.

Rolling my eyes again, I finished serving the rest of Thanksgiving Day dinner until it was all set down and we were ready to eat. Heaver almost before we had said grace. "Hey!" I exclaimed as his hand was reaching for the turkey. "We have to give thanks!"

"My thanks is given in my _joi de vivre_!" he said, grabbing a piece of the bird.

I viewed him, reproachfully, with one eye shut and an eyebrow raised.

"All right," he stated in annoyance and folded his hands in prayer.

I did the same and began, "Thank you Lord for this meal and all the blessings that this year has offered."

Finished, I looked to my guest, whom was still looking anxiously at the turkey. " _Well_ ," I urged.

"I be thankful when I'm allowed at that turkey," Heaver declared.

"Oh, all right!" I said, pushing the bird over in his direction.

" _Merci_!" he exclaimed and began to rip into it.

Literally.

I stood there watching as the goalie used his big hands to tear that already poor dead bird apart. He wasn't eating it, just mutilating it. Finally, I caved in and asked, "Would you mind if I have some to actually _eat_?"

He looked irritated but grabbed a handful of meat and dropped it on my plate.

"Thanks," I mumbled, hoping his hands were clean.

I began to place some potatoes, carrots and parsnips, yams, stuffing and cranberries alongside it. As I was drizzling the gravy on top, I looked at Heaver, whom seemed suddenly very depressed and was resting an elbow on the table while his chin was on his palm. He sat there looking like he had nothing to give thanks for at all.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my fork stabbing a chunk of the food on my plate.

"Nothing," he replied dejectedly. "Eat the _zut_ bird."

Not wanting to depress him any further, I brought the fork to my mouth and started to chew.

And nearly lost a tooth.

My back molar crunched down on something hard at the back. Worse, it was metal and set off a filling. "Ouch!" I said, spitting it out into my hand.

Heaver was looking at me with this hopeful glint in his soft, brown eyes and we both stared at the object lying on my palm. "A ring?" I stated in shock.

"There it is!" Heaver said happily and took it, wiping the masticated food off of it on one nice, broad shoulder.

"It's yours?" I asked, surprised.

" _Oui_ ," he replied, placing it on his finger. "Everyone in the Mustangs got one after we won the _coupe_. When we were at one of the other player's farms a few weeks back, I lost it inside of one of the dumb _dindes_. Which one, _mon_ no idea, so I had to buy them all from that store you shop at. Only I ran out of money for one _dernier_. Had to go and get it. By that time, you had your eyes on it too, eh?"

My mouth hung open as my mind was still stuck on the first part of his explanation. "Your ring got stuck inside of a turkey?"

He looked at me and nodded, still smiling goofily.

"How did your ring get...oh, nevermind," I said with a gulp, not sure I wanted to know.

"Mon appetite is back now!" Heaver said, starting to load his plate full of food.

"You still want to eat with me?" I asked. Knowing now that he had only agreed to the invite because he was after his ring, a part of me had feared he would be out the door now that it was found.

" _Pourquoi non_?" he asked sincerely. "I am thankful mon ring back and I have all of this good to eat with _un belle femme_. What more could I thank _mon_ _Dieu_ for?"

I blushed in my seat, feeling the same way about the _beau gracon_ sitting before me.

* * *

We sat and talked while we ate, which wasn't really proper etiquette. I had the feeling, though, that he didn't give a _zut_ about it after being around other hockey players for so long. When we were full, the pumpkin pie 66.5% in Heaver's tummy and 33.5% in mine, I expected my guest to bid a hasty retreat but was touched when he offered to stay and help me with the dishes.

"I wash," he set down his condition.

"Sure," I agreed to the terms.

"And get half the leftovers," he added some fine print.

"Okay," I conceded. "It's too much temptation anyway."

" _Pourquoi_?" Heaver asked while we walked to the kitchen together, our hands filled with food.

"Don't you remember?" I asked. "I'm _femme la grande_?"

The hockey player blushed. "Well, that was when we were fighting over the turkey. All is fair _dans_ _amour_ _et_ war, Erin!" I shook my head and he continued. "I like the weight on you. It's cute."

"Thanks," I said and blushed again.

Washing dishes, we talked some more, which eventually turned to the bowl in which I had made the horrible biscuits when it was its turn to be cleaned. "So this is where they started, heh?"

"Yeah," I mumbled.

" _C'est tragique_. But could you make some more for _le_ Mustangs incase we lose our pucks?"

I playfully hit him with my towel.

To which he spashed some suds up at me.

My own hand dipped into the sink and grabbed a few to blow onto his nose. Heaver quickly proceeding to do the same, our task soon turned into a suds fight instead and we were both laughing. That is, until my foot slipped on the now wet floor and I went tumbling down on top of the hockey player again.

Once more, I landed on him and he made the same strong exhalation sound. There was the return of that same odd look on his face too, like he was embarrassed and happy all at once. His cheeks were turning red as I felt that hard thing poking me in the thigh. "Sorry Heaver," I apologized.

" _Non, c'est bien_ ," he said with a large grin.

I looked down to our legs. "I know you have a biscuit in your pocket but do you carry a screwdriver around too or what's that thing poking me?"

"That's not a screwdriver," he replied, turning even more scarlet.

"Your keys then?" I asked.

"Eh! Not that _petit_!" he stated seemingly affronted.

"Well what is it then?" I inquired in frustration.

Heaver blushed and whispered the answer into my ear...

Making me get off of him in a hurry to see his jeans tented in a way I couldn't help but finally recognize. Heaver sat up while I backed away into my small fridge.

"I don't know," he commented looking down at his erection. "I guess, I just like the way it feels when you fall on me. You're _doux_ and _grande_ and steal my breath away, eh? I was hoping it might happen again but could not know for sure."

Being a virgin with no real sexual experience, I didn't know what to say. I could only look at the hidden part of anatomy and then at its owner. Suddenly the fear that I had been used entered my mine. "You only stayed to get lucky," I stated.

" _Non_!" he argued. "I stayed because I _like_ you."

Not sure how to feel about a guy liking me because of my size and because I had _squashed_ him, I started to cry. "I think you'd better go now," I whimpered.

"Erin," Heaver said, rising to his feet.

"No, just go," I said, refusing to look at him, and only pointing at the door.

The goalie stood looking down at me for a few seconds before he turned to leave.

Leaving his leftovers behind.

* * *

After I had finished wiping the floor dry and finished doing the rest of the dishes, I returned to the living room. Then my eyes landed on the book Heaver had been looking at. I picked it up and it fell into two pieces in my hand: two halves of Louisa May Alcott's "An Old Fashioned Girl." I thought of the fact that I had had the copy since I was a little girl.

Only I had never been all that little and books like the one in my hand had made me foolishly hope that one day I might find my Tom like Polly had.

But I had, I thought. I had finally met a guy I liked, whom didn't seem to care about my weight, and I had thrown him out the door...Why, I wondered? Just because I was perhaps a little too old-fashioned and embarrassed about my weight to accept the fact that Heaver got turned on by my having fallen on him? I was _femme la grande_. That wasn't going to change anytime soon. If I was to become involved with a man, I could only hope he'd not give a _zut_ if I fell on him but would only enjoy it.

Actually, I was getting flattered the more I thought about it. He liked my size; Heaver actually _liked_ it! And I liked him!

So, what was I complaining about?

It was just another thing to be thankful for!

Rushing to my phone, I quickly asked the operator to get me Murray Chadwick, the coach for the Mustangs. I was hoping he would know where the team was off celebrating. I could have called Miss McGill, the woman whom ran the house most of the boys stayed at, but after hearing some of Heaver's stories about the woman I was too scared to.

Too scared and jealous.

"Murray Chadwick," a voice answered. "This better be good. My turkey's getting cold."

"Hello Mr. Chadwick," I said. "I was looking for where the Mustangs are having their meal."

"Most of 'em went back home for the weekend," Chadwick informed. "They have families, after all."

"What about Heaver?" I asked taken aback.

"Heaver didn't go home this year. His parents divorced and remarried. From what I heard both of them left Canada this year to go elsewhere. He was alone. Dean, my daughter's boyfriend asked him to come over with Jessie, him and myself but Heaver refused. Said he had somewhere better to be."

I staggered feeling dizzy. The goalie had considered me _better_. Okay, so there was the ring, but still...

I thought of Heaver's brown eyes and his sweet sad face and my heart cracked in to two pieces like in those old Disney cartoons or just like my old book. "Do you know where he might be?" I asked, my voice catching.

"Not reall..." the coach started to say and then stopped. "No wait. I think I might. He has a set of keys so..."

* * *

I was afraid that the rink's entrance would be locked but Murray Chadwick was right; Heaver had forgotten to lock it like he said he often did. I walked into the building for the first time, never having been there before and not knowing how to skate, following the signs to the ice where I had been told I would most likely find the goalie. Only when I got there he was skating around instead, shooting a puck across it's surface, not having anyone to play defense against.

I watched him for a while from the player's box, without his knowing, before I coughed and said, "Hey!"

He turned around sharply on the middle of the rink, the blades on his skates creating a bit of a groove in the ice. "How you know where I be?" he demanded.

"Coach Murray," I answered.

"Blabber _mouche_ ," he said.

"You lied," I accused. "You weren't having Thanksgiving with the guys today; you never were."

"Well, you lied too," he countered. "You said you could _cook_."

I walked closer to the ice. "I can when I'm not so nervous about strange, good looking men coming over to my house."

"You think I am _beau_?" he asked wearing a proud and boyish grin, ignoring the strange part.

I nodded and quickly added, "Besides it was only the biscuits."

"Oh, you mean, _this_?" Heaver exclaimed and pulled the one out from his pocket. He placed it on the ice and then hit it with his hockey stick, making it go straight into the net in one unedible goal.

"YOU!" I shouted and went onto the ice towards him without thinking.

I remembered where I was and began to slip and slide. Seeing my trouble, Heaver rushed over to me but it was too late. I fell down on top of him again and we lay on the rink, me on top of him his boner pressing into me.

He went to move out from under me but I quickly placed my hands on his shoulders. Stop! Stay! I like it there."

" _Vraiment_?" he said with a smile.

I nodded shyly. "I'm sorry about before. I guess, because of my size I tend to be skeptical about _why_ a guy would like me...but more than that, with my shyness, I might have pushed you away for my own comfort. But you, Heaver...you're worth being uncomfortable for."

"Even with my dork in your thigh?" he mused.

"Even with your dork in my thigh," I told him and pressed my forehead against his.

It wasn't long before our lips met just like our foreheads and we were kissing, his arms wrapping around me. It was a kiss that succeeded in stealing my breath away as much as I had just done with him. Afterwards, I gave him another quick one. "Let's go back to my apartment," I invited. "We can watch a movie or something."

" _Oui_! We'd better get off of here," Heaver stated. "I am freezing _mon_ biscuits off!"

"I thought you only took one," I joked.

"These ones not be burnt, Erin, and they taste far better," he retaliated. "If you should desire to try."

I giggled and moved off of him but was too scared to move after Heaver rose too and began to skate off of the rink. I grabbed his arm and he turned and looked at me.

"I can't skate," I said sheepishly.

He grinned a smile so bright I was surprized that the ice didn't melt under our feet. "Starting this upcoming _Samedi_ , Heaver will teach you!"

"He will? Err, _you_ will?"

" _Oui_! As long as you promise to fall in my direction whenever you lose your balance, eh?"

I smiled at him in bemusement. "Well, only if you tell me your real name," I bartered.

"Francois Deware," he replied instantly.

"Okay, Francois 'Heaver' Deware, you got yourself a deal," I said holding out my plump and freezing hand to him.

"Another thing to thank _mon Dieu_ for," Heaver proclaimed taking my hand to shake and then leaning over to seal the deal with a kiss, one so sweet and _delicieux_ it made me thank my God too.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Keanu;
> 
> Happy Canadian Thanksgiving! You left us but hey, "Gabba gabba, we accept you, we accept you, one of us" always.
> 
> Do you remember that cranky pineapple or was that after you left school. How about that hobo clown? I wish I would have learned something! We'd play Bingo in French sometimes too but, whenever I won, I was too shy to say anything.
> 
> This Thanksgiving I am thankful for many things. And you are one of the people I am most thankful for. I still hope to tell you why one day in greater detail. That would be another thing to be thankful for! God bless you, Keanu!
> 
> Much love,  
> Erin  
> XO XO  
> :D <3


End file.
